


He's Got Hollywood Eyes, but You Can't Shoot What He's Seen

by thelairoevie



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Cannon Typical Violence, Elias is a dick, F/M, I have too many projects so this will be very short and unedited, M/M, Songfic, Suicidal Thoughts, The Killers - Freeform, Unhealthy Relationships, breif mentions of sex but no sexytimes, fairly cannon compliant, healthy and unhealthy coping, no beta we kayak, seasons 1-4, this does not have a happy ending
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:42:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26505355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelairoevie/pseuds/thelairoevie
Summary: Just a little Jontim inspired by my The Killers playlist. Not connected to anything else I will write.
Relationships: Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	1. The Man

_ “ _ [ _ They kiss on the ring, I carry the crown _ ](https://genius.com/The-killers-the-man-lyrics#note-12160301)

[ _ Nothing can break, nothing can break me down _ ](https://genius.com/The-killers-the-man-lyrics#note-19312563)

[ _ Don't need no advice, I got a plan _ ](https://genius.com/The-killers-the-man-lyrics#note-14321839)

[ _ I know the direction, the lay of the land _ ](https://genius.com/The-killers-the-man-lyrics#note-13200560)

[ _ I know the score like the back of my hand _ ](https://genius.com/The-killers-the-man-lyrics#note-14321872)

[ _ Them other boys, I don't give a damn _ ](https://genius.com/The-killers-the-man-lyrics#note-19312573) _ ” _

* * *

Tim tried everything to get over what happened to Danny. First, it was the basics. He went to his friends, most of whom eventually gave up, or just made him feel worse. Couldn't try therapy, who’d believe him? Then, it was the stuff that promised to make him forget. He picked up smoking, nicotine and more, dating around, drinks. Nothing could erase the feeling of stone beneath his hands. The sound of skin, pulling tight and gently away. It never left him.

Eventually, he stopped trying to pull away, and instead began to dig in. He took the images plastered forever behind his eyes as he desperately pretended to sleep and gripped it like a lifeline. If it wasn’t going to leave, he would find it, and kill it for good. It was after weeks of throwing himself into wild-goose chases, reading about architecture and sneaking into circus shows that Tim first heard of the Magnus institute. 

This was the first, and might later be remembered as the last series of lucky breaks that Tim got in his life. Right as he was writing up a new CV (He had only ever been hired as a publisher before), he discovered something else. A good, proper way to numb the pain.

He could go out hiking and swimming, far out from the wretched, awful city that did him in, and tire all the anger and the pain out of him. Just walking or paddling, or better yet, something thrilling like cliff jumping or mountain biking, until it was almost like Danny was still there, and he didn’t have the energy to feel bad. 

So, when he finally got hired, Tim was feeling better than he had in months. When he shook Elias’s hand the first time he smiled, and while it still didn’t have what used to be his characteristic joy in it, it was more smugness and witty laughter, it was still real. 

After a few weeks adjustment, Tim realized that the way things were going, he was unstoppable. Everyday he was working his way up through the institute itself, and at the same time he was working his way to the answers. He already had more on creepy clowns than he had gathered from the entire set of research he had done on his own. At this point, the damn things better be shaking in their shoes. He was absolutely kick-ass, and willing to do what it took. He felt good. He felt like himself. 

Maybe that’s why when he first walked into research he so easily slid back into making friends. 

Being charming was as useful and as fun while working in research as it had been in publishing. People were so much more likely to open up to him when he gave them his winning smile, his draw-sublte-attention-to-my-ass walk, and a well placed comment or occasional line. The bonus to it all was that it also drew people to him at work. He went out for drinks with several of the interns, took lunch with a young man from the library, and really hit it off with his new best friend, Sasha James from Artifact Storage. 

And then there was Jon.


	2. Miss Atomic Bomb

"All that I wanted was a little touch  
A little tenderness and truth, I didn't ask for much, no  
[Talk about being at the wrong place at the wrong time](https://genius.com/The-killers-miss-atomic-bomb-lyrics#note-20251739)"

* * *

Jon was the guy who worked across from his desk at research. By the look of things, he’s been working there a while longer, and if you were to look at them both when they met, you would have thought there were no two more different people. 

Jon was uptight, blunt, and his state of constant awkwardness and exhaustion was covered with a mask of professionalism the way that the need for a shower was with cologne. His sense of humor was rare and dry, his sense of romance seemingly nonexistent. Tim, on the other hand, knew people saw him as bright and funny. His own mask of good humor and flirty cheek were much more effective. 

At first, Jon was just someone that was easy to mess with. If there needed to be a lighter mood in the room, which happened fairly often, Tim would use a few well-placed comments, and the tension would wade with Jon’s growing flush and indignant stutter. Later, he’d get a little lecture from him, laugh it off, and the process would start anew. 

But eventually, something changed. Tim wasn’t stupid, he saw Jon’s vehement denial that any of the spooky stuff they encountered were real -- saw the way he handed off any assignements to do with spiders and focused with bristling hate at a the mention of a certain set of books.  _ Oh,  _ he thought, when he puzzled it out,  _ he’s just like me. _

After that, there was a storm of realization. Jon wasn’t hot like Tim was hot, he had no curves or muscles to speak of, his hair was outgrown and unstyled, he had slightly off teeth and a slender, delicate jaw. But  _ damn _ was Jon beautiful. There was something in the way his hair fluffed out when he finally let it down, the way that his lips curved when he chewed on his pen, the way that he laughed when Tim actually, blessedly, got him to smile. Something that made everything that Tim was angry at in the world fall away. Fuck revenge, Tim wanted  _ that.  _

If anything, might have been easier, but it wasn’t like he minded. Not when every failed attempt at flirting left Jon ever hot-headed and blushing, when every stolen, just a-little-too-long touch left his skin buzzing with not the warmth that he wanted to envelop himself in. 

He started taking Jon out to lunch. At first, just casually, a good way to make sure his coworker was eating. Then, they did Friday nights, too, and Tim pulled out his best date-night dishes that were eaten under the blue of the TV rather than candlelight. 

It wasn’t really the romantic affair he expected, when Tim finally got him to go out. Jon was stressed out, winding himself up and up and up and Tim knew just how to break it. He’d done it before, rented out some gear, some boots, a motorbike. Plan out enough for an entire weekend. He promised to take his pain away with a clever smile and a daring adventure. And he did. They rode out of London, out of everywhere, and spent hours under the stars.

He’s never been that breathless after a kiss.

That was the weekend before Jon was promoted. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The rest will come in the next 2 days! Again, it's gonna be short as hell, sorry.
> 
> Edit: Hahaha, sorry. I lied. I will get to it soon though, I swear!


	3. Mr. Brightside

"Jealousy, turning saints into the sea  
Swimming through sick lullabies, choking on your alibis  
But it's just the price I pay, destiny is calling me  
[Open up my eager eyes, 'cause I'm Mr. Brightside](https://genius.com/The-killers-mr-brightside-lyrics#note-1118435)"

* * *

Tim might have been many things, but he wasn’t stupid. He knew that there wasn't a good reason for Jon to suddenly head an entire department, no matter how good a researcher he was.  _ Especially  _ not the archives. He was the leer that Elias used when he announced the news, all smug and proud and  _ hungry. _ It sparked the pit of his simmering, seething resentment. It nagged him as he was immediately chosen to work under Jon, pulled at his sharp edges as they snuck off around lunch to celebrate. The warm and delightfully soft feeling was suddenly too soft, and he pulled tighter and pressed harder as he felt it give and slide away. Sand through his clenching fingers.

For a little while, it was just a feeling. Jon was not a good archivist, but he had Sasha around, and his weekends and evenings and lunch breaks and half-smoked cigarettes were gloriously  _ Tim’s.  _ He was able to brush off the prickling reminder of Elias’s dirty stare, the one that made every minute feel watched while he was with Jon. It was jealousy, and that happened to everyone, right? All part of being in love. And honestly, totally worth it. God, the things that Jon did to him. Now he had to restrain himself from sprinting into work, just in case Jon came in early (which he always did) and he could get five more minutes to try and get him to laugh. He savored every opportunity he got to grab and swing his hand, to throw an arm around his stiff shoulders, even pull on his slightly-too-long hair. 

Jon’s birthday came around, and Tim couldn’t remember the last time he felt that excited. He planned a wine bottle gift as a diversion for the surprise party, which was a larger diversion for the fact that come 5pm, he was going to sweep the man off his feet and drive him to the most beautiful place he knew. Tim had every intent to kiss Jon a million times under the soft glow from the view, as much of London that could be seen at once. He already had the motorcycle out front. He might have even bought condoms. Just in case. 

He was extra careful not to have anyone tell Elias about the party, but it must have been too much to ask. Sure, he was still glad Jon had some cake and some fun, but the head of the institute never seemed to leave them alone, and Tim couldn’t kiss or playfully grope or even flirt much with the guy who could fire them both  _ right there.  _ It didn’t help the way that Elias called him “Archivist” grit his teeth like sandpaper. 

After it all, Tim pulled on his leather jacket, and made way towards Jon’s office. He stopped when he heard voices. It was low enough that he couldn’t make it out, but it sounded like… He pulled the door open without bothering to knock. There was Elias, leaning in close, too close, over the desk where Jon was sitting. Jon didn’t seem to react to it much at all. His blank stare hurt Tim, but the smooth, nearing slimy smile that crept onto Elias’s face was worse.

Loudly, he cleared his throat. Tried to joke about interrupting, but it came out cold and flat. Jon’s trance seemed to break, and suddenly he was sputtering, trying to collect himself, and it was so hopelessly Jon that it got Tim to just barely relax. Then Jon began to explain that Elias was just giving him an extra assignment, that there was just going to be a little overtime, since Gertrude left so many things undone. 

That leering, coveting, watching feeling was stronger than ever, and Tim realized something was wrong. He noncommittally nodded and left, clenching his jaw as he realized with disgust that Elias had followed him out. 

“Come on up to my office. I fancy a game of chess.” 

Elias had said it with a suggestive stare at Jon’s office, less offer or order than threat. It was obvious Tim wouldn’t get a choice. 

They never spoke of a bet, but the collateral was obvious. The game went on for weeks. Tim gaining headway, taking pieces off the board, meant that Jon suddenly got afternoons off, less work during the week. A loss meant the opposite. Sometimes it was just giving them all overtime, but sometimes it was worse. Elias was handsier with Jon when Tim was around, like a reminder that he could get away with it. He’d pull him away to wine and dine the institute’s big investors, take him to places Tim would have to work for months to afford. He hated it. 

He didn’t like to think what would happen if he lost.

That gnawing feeling of Jon being watched, being taken from him grew in his gut and choked up into his chest. It was so easy, so familiar, to lean back into the pain and the anger of losing and not being able to do anything about it. It made it so much harder to melt into wonderful, slender hands.

He pushed it all down and watched Jon light a cigarette. 


End file.
